


like an anchor,

by fuckingkinney



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, M/M, Touch-Starved, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-11
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-02-20 19:27:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2440190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckingkinney/pseuds/fuckingkinney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mr White touched him too much, and Jesse didn’t understand why. He knew that he hated it. He also knew that he loved it, that he needed more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	like an anchor,

Mr White touched him too much, and Jesse didn’t understand why. He knew that he hated it. He also knew that he loved it, that he needed more.

It all started out subtly; a hand on the shoulder, fingers curling over to brush just the slightest bit above his collarbone through the thin t-shirt that he was wearing. 

 

“Relax,” Walter would tell him, as though he _could_ with the proximity between them. “You’re doing fine.”

Jesse never thought anything of it. It was reassurance, in his mind, because it did work and he always made a batch the slightest bit better than the last when Mr White was hovering over him as reassurance rather than scrutiny. 

It was rare, but still enough to make him feel empty when it didn’t happen whilst they were cooking.

 

It happens whilst they’re fighting and Jesse is so caught off guard that he lets his defense drop, winded as his back slams against the floor.

He hadn’t imagined it though; the fingers on his thigh, digging in just the slightest bit too high.

It could have been an accident, but when it happens more than once, across a part that Mr White would have to stretch his fingers out for, Jesse doesn’t know how to feel about it.

Only he punches him in the nose instead of thinking, feeling.  
Violence is always easier than emotion.

 

Fingers touch his hair, his arm, his elbow. Jesse can’t tell if it is an accident, or if Mr White knows exactly what he’s doing. If he’s honest with himself, he wouldn’t be surprised with either. That man is a smart bastard when he wants to, no doubt in his mind that he can’t pick up on what the small things are doing to him.

It’s not like Jesse has ever been subtle about anything before in his life, why start now?

Walter never looks at him afterwards once his fingers drop, and Jesse doesn’t understand what is happening. Is he trying to make a move? Is it some sort of fucking game? 

He doesn’t think he wants to know, and so he never asks.

 

They’re drunk, for reasons that he can no longer remember. They’re too close and Jesse can smell the liquor on his breath, the aroma of his cologne. It smells too cheap, like he’d rubbed it across his neck before running out the door.

Someone that makes as much as Mr White shouldn’t wear shit like that.

He tells him so and lumbers into his side, nose against his neck before he can realize what he’s doing. There’s a laugh in his ear and his eyes close, hums in response to it despite having lost control of his actions a while ago. 

A hand on his thigh, towards the curve of his ass jolt him, surprise him, and Jesse doesn’t remember if he presses into it or away from it when he wakes up the next morning alone.

 

A finger presses into the corner of his jaw when Mr White kisses him, presses in the indent when the skin meets his neck. He presses into it, tilts his head and opens his mouth, whines in a way he’s never heard himself sound before.

He does the soon when Jesse is on his knees between his legs, eyes wide and desperate as he groans. The noises are muffled, always muffled and Mr White looks so fucking satisfied with himself.

The other hand is in his hair, curled into the blond tightly to keep him in place. 

Jesse can’t stand to watch it, can’t stand the way that it makes him hard when Mr White holds his jaw and the back of his head as he fucks his mouth. Can’t stand the way that Mr White groans when he gags around him, murmurs that he’s “such a good boy” near enough the entire time.

 

It’s an anchor, Jesse realizes when he’s on his stomach, a pillow angled under his head and chest. His arms are wrapped around it tight, eyes closed tighter as the side of his face presses against the fabric.

Hands are gripping onto his hips and the strength behind it is too hard, sure to leave bruises on him. Jesse pretends that’s why he arches into them, to make Mr White relax. Jesse pretends that his moans are of pain when the grip tightens and he’s torn between arching more and rutting against the sheets beneath him.

Fingers are slow, too fucking slow, as they slide up his skin until a hand is on the back of his neck. Mr White is pressed up against his back, hips snapping forward and tugging his own back with each thrust. 

Jesse is whimpering, whining, and sounding so fucking desperate that he wants to cover his ears, block it out. There’s a grin against the side of his face, eyes watching him and the fingers on his neck squeeze with purpose.

“You’re so good,” he groans and Jesse shudders at the sound, whimpers. “ _My_ good boy—“

Fingers slide up into his hair and tug his head back, grip on tight. Jesse can’t even try to deny he comes harder than he ever remembers when he’s shuddering through the aftershocks of it.

 

Afterwards, Mr White spans his hand out across his stomach and presses them tight together, forces a leg between Jesse’s own. There’s never any complaint, any struggle against it.

Jesse just presses against it, content for the first time that he can really remember.

**Author's Note:**

> i haven't watched breaking bad in so long so this is probably really out of character, so i apologize, but i was reading walt/jesse headcanons on tumblr and couldn't stop this from happening


End file.
